Why do I feel like that’s not the case? But I don’t say that out loud in case Layla starts to think I’m sick in the head or something.

“And, mate, if that man gives you anything to enjoy, don’t hesitate to take it. At least he has that whole hot daddy look going on for him. Just…”

“What?”

“Don’t lose yourself to him. Men like Jonathan King have enough intensity to make you forget about who you are when in their company.”

She’s right.

But it’s not like I’ll ever let Jonathan consume me. I might have had second thoughts, but I’ve never strayed away from my initial goal.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t have majored in psychology?” I poke Layla.

“I kind of did. They teach us a lot of psychology in marketing. We have to understand people in order to sell to them.”

I rub her arm. “Thank you for being here for me, Lay. I would’ve gone crazy without you.”

“Anytime. Remember, I don’t care how much Johnny is daddy material. If he bothers you, I’ll kick his arrogant nose.”

We both laugh at the mental image, and for a moment, I pretend everything will be fine.

Six months.

I can survive six months.

After all, I survived sixteen years in the company of a monster.

Problem is, Jonathan is an entirely different monster altogether.

16

Aurora

I arrive early to the King’s mansion.

On purpose.

If I’m going to be stuck here for the next six months, then I might as well rip off the Band-Aid.

However, there’s something else.

With the exception of the clusterfuck that happened around the dining table last night and how I embarrassingly came all over Jonathan’s fingers, there’s another issue that hasn’t left my brain.

The recording of Alicia’s voice. Her death message to me.

Considering Jonathan was her husband, he ought to inherit all that she left.

If he’s had that recording for eleven years, why would he send me that message now? Why in this way?

Granted, he’s lost track of me since Alicia’s death, but could this be another game of his?

The only other people who could have Alicia’s message for me is her lawyer or her son, Aiden.

The lawyer wouldn’t play games, I don’t think. As for Aiden… Well, I don’t know him enough to form any theories yet. What I’m sure of is that he wasn’t even aware I existed or he wouldn’t have called me Mum during our first meeting.

Besides, he’s on his honeymoon right now. There’s no way in hell he has time to plot this.

The prime suspect is inside these walls. Jonathan fucking King.

Once again, the front gate automatically opens. And again, I stare at the angel statue. My wrist, where my watch lies, itches as a sense of foreboding trickles down my spine.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, but I’ll bring you justice, Alicia.

When I was young and clueless, she used to hold me on her lap and tell me stories about fairies and castles. She used to read me fantasy novels like Harry Potter. I loved how her voice changed every time there was danger in a scene. My eyes would bug out and I’d wait with bated breath for the following chapters to unfold.

Even though we lived worlds apart, she never made me feel like I was worthless.

We did have so many differences to count. I grew up in Leeds while she lived in London. She was an aristocrat from both parents’ sides while I was an illegitimate commoner. Her noble origins showed in her tiniest gestures. From her smile to her delicate frown.

She was warm and softly spoken. Dying at only thirty was too harsh.

And that’s why she needs justice.

And that’s why I can’t let whatever happened with Jonathan yesterday repeat again. He’s my sister’s husband for fuck’s sake.

As soon as I stop in front of the mansion, I unload my suitcase. I brought necessities and my laptop, and since I kept my flat, most of my stuff is still there.

The door opens and the woman from yesterday greets me. A younger man dressed in an elegant butler suit stands beside her. His skin is so pale that his green veins show through the surface of his hand.

“Tom will get your suitcase.” She motions at him and he silently springs into action. “Please follow me.”

I do, and even though it’s my second time here, the place’s majesty doesn’t lessen. If anything, it appears more grandiose in daylight.

“What’s your name?” I ask the woman, who’s walking one step ahead of me.

“Margot,” she says without sparing me a glance.

“I’m Aurora.”

“I know.”

Okay. I suppose Jonathan’s staff are as stand-offish as he is. They’re not talkative either.

Margot leads me to the second floor and Tom follows behind us like a shadow, silent and a bit creepy.

The entire mansion is.

Despite the elegant wallpaper that’s fit for a royal palace and the golden ornaments attached to the ceilings, something is off about this place.

Your sister got depressed and died here.

That’s probably it.

Besides, the King mansion doesn’t have Alicia’s touch. At all.

Her only visible interference here is the angel statues outside. The inside, while it hints at a refined taste, is all Jonathan — rugged edges and authoritative masculinity.

This place isn’t just meant to impress, it’s also meant to intimidate. When you walk these halls, you sign an imaginary pact to do whatever the tyrant of the house demands.

Margot stops in front of a room and motions for Tom to go inside. He places the suitcase at the entrance, nods, and leaves.

The room is so large, it almost takes up an entire floor. An elegant queen-sized bed sits on a high platform in a classic way with a modern touch. The balcony is open, which allows the light-coloured curtains to flap inside.

There’s also a desk and a small sitting area.

“This will be your room. Breakfasts are at seven-thirty. No lunches on workdays and dinners are at eight.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

She throws me a weird glance like I murdered a puppy or something. What’s so hard about not eating breakfast? All I need is coffee and I get that on my way to work.